“You saved me.”

Sara pressed her mouth to his.

Perhaps in some part of her mind, she had intended it to be a reassuring kiss. Or maybe a simple thank-you.

But as soon as Jack’s lips touched hers, the moment turned frantic.

As he held her in his arms, the realization slammed into her that she might have died.

She started to tremble. He was trembling, too, as he ran his hands over her back, her shoulders, gathering her closer, so that she melted against him.

In this reality they had known each other only a few days. But for Sara it was so much longer.

Maybe in some way he knew that, too.

About the Author

Award-winning, USA TODAY bestselling novelist Ruth Glick, who writes as REBECCA YORK, is the author of more than one hundred books, including her popular 43 Light Street series for Mills & Boon Intrigue. Ruth says she has the best job in the world. Not only does she get paid for telling stories, she’s also an author of twelve cookbooks. Ruth and her husband, Norman, travel frequently, researching locales for her novels and searching out new dishes for her cookbooks.

Her Baby’s
Father

Rebecca York

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Norman,

who is always there for me.

Chapter One

A sharp, stabbing pain grabbed Sara Carter’s middle, and she gripped the steering wheel tightly, struggling to maintain control of her car.

The contractions were getting more intense and closer together. She’d had a nagging backache since early morning, but hadn’t even realized she was in labor until a gush of water between her legs sent her running to the bathroom.

Even now liquid continued to trickle out of her.

Amniotic fluid, she realized.

The hospital had told her to come in right away, and she thought she had time to get there. It wasn’t even snowing when she left the house. Now it looked like she was inside a giant, freshly shaken snow globe.

“Dear God,” she prayed. “Let me get to the hospital in time. Because nobody’s going to find me out here if I get stuck.”

Doubtless the hospital staff assumed she’d be with her husband. But she didn’t have one. She probably never would. Unless she met a guy who could live up to her memories of Jack Morgan, the father of her child.

At least there were only a few cars on the road. Other motorists had wisely turned back or found shelter. But her only choice was to plow ahead.

She certainly wouldn’t find help at home. The little rented house in the rural end of Howard County, Maryland, was the only thing she could afford at the moment because her savings were dwindling. And she was going to be out of commission for at least a few weeks after she delivered. Hopefully, sooner rather than later, she could get back to work staging houses—making them look their best for potential buyers—on a limited basis. But she was bound to lose a lot of her customers to competitors by turning down jobs.

Life as a new mother would be tough.

Jack’s wealthy family could have helped ease her financial burden, but they’d turned their collective backs on her after his death.

She snorted as she remembered the conversation with Jack’s father when she’d given him the news. If she wanted child support, she’d have to prove paternity with DNA testing. And sue them.

She shuddered. If she did prove the baby was Jack’s, they might try to take him away.

“Never,” she whispered, to the child she carried.

A boy. Named Daniel. He was all she had left of the man she loved, and she would raise him in a way that would have made his father proud.

She didn’t want to think about how hard that was going to be. Instead she let memories of Jack Morgan comfort her. He was the wounded war hero who’d come back from the Naval Medical Center to try to pick up his life.

She’d met him at an expensive house her friend Pam Reynolds was showing. Tara in Howard County, she’d jokingly called it.

His brother had dragged him along to look at the property, and Jack had obviously been annoyed to be there. Maybe she’d seen him as a challenge at first. But the relationship had quickly become important to both of them.

“Oh, Jack,” she whispered as she leaned forward, trying to see through the blinding whiteness ahead of her. “It should have worked out differently. If only you were still here.”

But he wasn’t. And there was no use wishing that her life hadn’t gone careening off the rails in such spectacular fashion. All she could do was make the best of her future.

A future without the man she loved.

Sometimes she wondered how warm, caring Jack Morgan could have come from such a cold, money-obsessed family. But that wasn’t her immediate problem.

Another contraction made her gasp. Pulling to the shoulder, she waited for the clutching pain to diminish. As soon as the contraction subsided enough for her to concentrate, she nosed back onto the road.

Only fifteen minutes to Howard County General Hospital now. Well, maybe under better conditions. Should she stop and call for help? No, she might end up having the baby in the car if she risked waiting here.

“You’re going to make it,” she told herself. Or that was what she thought. Until she came around a curve on Route 108 and saw the pickup truck stalled at the bottom of a hill.

As her car began the long slide toward the disabled vehicle, she frantically turned the wheel, trying to avoid a collision. But the wheels failed to catch on the slick surface, and she felt the car gaining momentum—hurtling her toward disaster.

The bone-rattling impact of the car slamming into the truck stunned her.

Air bag? Where was the air bag?

The moment her forehead smashed against the windshield and glass shattered, she knew she and the baby were going to die.

Sara couldn’t feel her body, but her mind floated somewhere in darkness. Ahead of her, she could see a beautiful golden light. The warmth drew her, but something held her from going there.

A presence hovered around her. No, two of them. They had come to guide her to the light. Where she’d be warm and safe. And all her problems would be gone.

But something was wrong.

She could hear them talking. Arguing.

“It’s not her time.”

“Of course it is. Look at her.”

“I mean, her life wasn’t supposed to work out this way.”

“She shouldn’t have been driving in a snowstorm.”

“She was on her own. It wouldn’t have happened if he’d been with her.”

“He’s long gone.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be that way.”

The one who objected made a dismissive sound. “What are you talking about? We’re not authorized to change history.”

“We can rectify mistakes.”

“Not on our own.”

“She’s got strength and determination. She doesn’t deserve to end this way.”

“Not everybody gets what they deserve.”

“Give her an opportunity to change fate.”

There was a long pause. “We could be making a terrible mistake. We could be punished.”

“It won’t be noticed.”

“You want to take that risk?”

“Look at it this way. Either everything turns out the same again, or she has a chance to change her destiny.”

Chapter Two

In the moment between sleep and waking, Sara remembered hearing voices. Talking about her.

What was it they’d been saying?

She scrabbled to get a sense of the conversation. They’d come to take her to a place that was warm and safe. Where all her troubles would vanish like mist evaporating in the heat of the sun.

Then they’d changed their minds. Or one of them had. When the other had objected, the first one had persuaded him to go along.

Him? Were they men? They had sounded both gentle and commanding. If that was possible.

Before she could decide, she jerked awake. She was in her car. On her way to the hospital?

Could that be right?

Hazy memories swam through her mind, and she struggled to make them come clear.

The last thing she recalled was the car skidding down a long hill on a snow-slick road and crashing into a truck, but that couldn’t be true.

She looked around at tall trees with new green leaves, filtering bright sunlight. Below them were blooming azaleas and carefully planted beds of bright annuals—impatiens and begonias.

Not winter. Spring.

But the snowstorm had seemed so real. Obviously she’d dreamed it.

Disoriented, she struggled to remember why she was here and what she was doing.

Recollections surfaced as she focused on a huge white house with a circular brick drive and Doric columns holding up the two-story front porch. Tara in Howard County, Maryland, she’d called it. Conveniently situated between Washington, D.C., and Baltimore.

She knew the inside layout of the mansion. Six bedrooms. Six bathrooms. A great room and a kitchen as big as the modest home where she’d grown up. This house was too big for any one family, as far as she was concerned. It was the kind of ostentatious property people bought when they wanted you to know how well they were doing.

It was also way out of her price range, but she wasn’t planning to buy it. She’d been hired to stage the place for an important client, a rush job that had kept her here from early in the morning until early afternoon. Real-estate agent Pam Reynolds was paying extra because she had a live one on the hook.

Sara had worked feverishly to get the property ready, using two of the college students who helped her out part-time when she needed to move big pieces of furniture.

After they’d left, she’d climbed into her car to catch a few minutes of sleep before Pam arrived.

She blinked, still feeling like her brain wasn’t quite engaging with reality. The images and emotions from the vivid dream simply wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t just that she’d been driving through a snowstorm. She’d been on the way to the hospital—because she was having a baby.

A baby! Oh, please. She wasn’t even dating anyone. And she wasn’t the type for one-night stands.

Somehow her unconscious mind must have conjured up that scenario from an old movie or TV show.

But now it was time to get back to the real world.

She pulled down the sun visor and looked at her face in the mirror, fluffing her shoulder-length blond hair a little. Then she stroked on a little lip gloss. She had just slipped the tube back into her purse when a silver Mercedes pulled up in the circular driveway, and Pam got out.

She was tall and fit, with a halo of ash-blond hair, and was wearing a tailored pantsuit today.

Smiling, she came over to Sara’s car. “Are we all set?”

“I think so,” Sara answered, hoping it was true.

“Thanks for the rush job. I appreciate it.”

Sara climbed out and shut the door, then, as she stood beside the car, she looked down at her body, expecting to see the swollen belly and big breasts that had been the hallmarks of her advanced pregnancy. Instead she was lithe and slim in jeans, a yellow T-shirt and tennis shoes. Her work clothes.

She should get out of here before Pam’s high-priced client arrived.

Her breath caught. No. She needed to stay because this was the day…

The thought trailed off in confusion again as she tried to remember what was so important.

“Let’s take a look,” Pam was saying. “I always love to see your work. Did you use that antique armoire that I admired so much?”

“I think so.”

Pam peered at her. “You look a little…pale. Are you feeling okay?”

“A little sleep deprived, I guess.”

“Sorry I got you up so early.”

“It’s okay.”

Pam wiped her palm on a pants leg in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. “I’m glad you’re here. Since that murder last week, I’ve felt kind of spooked, staying in a vacant house by myself.”

Murder? Sara scrambled to dredge up what Pam was referring to, then remembered that a woman real-estate agent had been raped and murdered in an empty house where she’d been waiting to meet a client. The man had showed up and taken advantage of the isolated location. So far the cops had no leads, and it seemed all of the women in the local real-estate business were on edge.

Sara had thought about that when she’d been working at this three-acre property early in the morning. But Peter and Brad had been here most of the time. They’d only left a little while ago—and taken her truck back to the warehouse space where she stored the furniture and knickknacks she used in her work.

The real-estate agent hurried up the front steps and stepped into the house.

Sara followed more slowly, marveling at how much easier it was to walk without all the extra weight of advanced pregnancy. She’d forgotten how it felt not to be dragging around the equivalent of a couple of gallon jugs of water.

No, wait. Had she really been pregnant? She was still having trouble sorting reality from…what?

Not a dream. More like a different reality.

When Pam glanced back, Sara hurried to catch up. Inside, her gaze swept over the work that she’d completed this morning, starting with the antique side table that she’d centered along one wall of the large foyer. On the polished surface sat a whimsical elephant lamp and one of the orchids that she kept in the greenhouse in the back of a friend’s garage. They were easy to grow, bloomed for months and always added a touch of elegance.

On the wall was an ornate mirror that she’d patched up with spackling compound and refinished herself.

Finding and fixing up pieces that would work as part of the rooms she furnished was both her skill and her pleasure.

“The elephant’s a nice touch,” Pam remarked. “Garage sale or auction?”

“Garage sale. The base was coming off, but I superglued it back together. Love that stuff.”

Pam headed for the kitchen where Sara had used Dansk Kobenstyle casseroles, tall glass jars of preserved herbs and red-and-white-checkered dish towel accents. The round table was set with more garage-sale plates and goblets. The centerpiece was a bowl of mixed citrus fruit.

Pam eyed the display. “Aren’t those old casseroles expensive? Where did you find them?”

She was glad Pam had asked. The questions about her work were tying her more firmly to the present. And she was relieved to discover that the answer came more easily than she might have expected. “On eBay. I get ones that have hard use and fix them up.”

Pam made a dismissive sound. “How can you fix up a metal casserole?”

“With spray paint.”

“Clever.”

“Of course, you can’t put them in the oven,” she added, anxious to make a full disclosure.

“Nobody’s going to cook in them. And they’re a lot more interesting than the plastic food you see in so many model houses.”

As Sara showed Pam the property, the scene became increasingly real to her.

She remembered carefully draping the colorful Peruvian shawl on the tan sofa and arranging candles in the fireplace.

She and the boys had done only one bedroom, but it was a masterpiece of sophistication, using earth tones with touches of bright color.

“If this doesn’t hook Ted Morgan, nothing will,” Pam murmured.

Ted Morgan? Not the right Morgan. “I’m sorry. I forgot who he is,” she stammered.

Pam took in her perplexed look. “Come on. Morgan Enterprises. They’re into everything from construction projects to oil exploration.”

“Uh-huh,” she murmured.

Pam put a hand on Sara’s arm. “Stay here with me after he arrives, okay?”

Sara’s heart started to pound. She remembered this conversation from the first time.

“You’re nervous?” she managed to ask.

“A little. Ted’s a big deal around here. He’s getting married, and he wants a family home.”

“This is the kind of house where the kids and the parents would never have to see each other.”

Pam laughed. “If that’s what he wants, fine with me. He’s a very rich man who can get me a six percent commission on two million dollars.”

“Well, that does put him into perspective.”

Sara knew Pam was doing well as a real-estate agent and living a high-flying lifestyle she wanted to maintain. Sara, on the other hand, wasn’t into “lifestyle.” Instead she was willing to live modestly to build her business. Money had never been that important to her. Well, it had become more important when she’d discovered she’d need to support a baby on her own. And the Morgans were doing their best to make her want to move away. But that was getting way ahead of herself.

There was no baby. Not yet.

She shook her head, grappling with the continuing confusion of what was then and what was now. But she suddenly knew what day this was. The day she had met Jack Morgan. The father of her child.

Because she couldn’t simply stand there, she turned and headed back to the kitchen to stow her purse in one of the lower cabinets. Straightening, she gripped the kitchen counter, the hard surface helping to anchor her.

Outside, the sound of a car pulling up made her heart begin to pound inside her chest with a mixture of excitement and dread.

She understood the excitement and struggled to banish the dread.

Pam rushed to the window and peered out. “He’s here.”

She kept staring, and Sara waited to hear what she was going to say.

What if this was the wrong day? What if Sara was totally crazy?

Pam’s next words settled the question. “I guess Ted doesn’t trust his own judgment. Or he wants outside approval. He’s got someone with him. I think it’s his older brother, Jack Morgan.”

Jack Morgan!

Oh, Lord. The reality of hearing Pam speak his name was like a kick to the solar plexus. This really was the day everything turned golden—and at the same time started to unravel.

Thank goodness the other woman was already out the door and starting down the steps, because Sara knew her face must reflect the jumble of emotions surging through her.

Anticipation. Shock. Relief. Fear. Sadness.

All of those.

“Jack,” she whispered. “Oh, Lord, Jack.”

She felt numb. Jack was dead. He’d been murdered ten months ago. Or ten months in the future if you granted the outrageous idea that Sara had been sent back to her own past by forces she would never understand.

But one thing she knew for sure. Jack’s death was in the future of this current reality because he was alive now. Through the open door she could see Pam hurrying down the steps to meet him and his brother.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” she said to the other man—Ted Morgan. The one who cared about having a grand house he could show off to visitors.

Which was so different from Jack’s attitude about his home. She knew he didn’t give a fig about appearances. He’d never been into flaunting his wealth. And his stint in the army had helped solidify his values.

He trailed behind his brother, looking like this was the last place on earth he wanted to be. Feeling light-headed, she steadied herself with a hand against the side table in the hall, trying to arrange her features and her understanding of what was happening.

A few minutes ago she’d been driving alone in a snowstorm, on her way to the hospital to deliver Jack’s baby. The baby who would never know his father. Now she was going meet him for the first time.

That couldn’t be a coincidence. It must mean something important.

Or was this all a cruel joke? A reminder of how much she’d lost? Maybe there was another explanation for what she thought she was experiencing now. Just the opposite of what she’d been thinking. She’d been in an auto accident. Was she lying in the hospital in a coma, hovering between life and death, dreaming all this?

She pressed her hand against the surface of the table. It didn’t feel like a dream. It felt as real as the first time she’d lived through this day, only every moment was overlaid with what she knew about the future.

She wanted to scream a warning to Jack. And to pledge to whoever had put her here that she wouldn’t waste this opportunity.

Dimly she remembered the conversation that had swirled around her after the car crash. She hadn’t seen who was talking, but she’d heard two voices arguing about her fate. And now here she was being given a second chance to make everything come out differently.

But how? Last time she and Jack had been relentlessly swept along by events they couldn’t control.

She straightened her spine. This time, since she knew what was going to happen, she could change everything. Well, she knew the end result. But that wasn’t enough. Could she figure out who wanted Jack dead and why? Then stop the killer from murdering him?

She clenched her fist, digging her nails into the tender flesh of her palm.

If she wanted it badly enough, maybe she could change history. Well, nothing so grand as the history of the world. Just Jack’s history—and her own.

Her pulse was pounding as she watched the two men come up the walk with Pam. The real-estate agent was engaged in an animated conversation with Ted. Jack followed a little behind, walking with the slightly awkward gait of a man who’d almost lost his leg, then spent months getting the muscles and ligaments to work properly.

The injury was the result of a roadside bomb in Afghanistan. It wasn’t the only consequence of the explosion. He’d been thrown forward in the vehicle, dislocating his shoulder. Shrapnel had peppered his chest and midsection, and a few shards had dug into the skin of his face.

He’d spent weeks in the Naval Medical Center, which had taken over army cases from Walter Reed, then weeks in rehab. But he’d been lucky. And he’d worked like a fiend to get back in shape and prove to himself that he wasn’t impaired for life.

He’d been going to reenlist. Instead his family had persuaded him that he’d done enough to serve his country. He’d come home, not sure who he was.

His war wounds had done a number on his self-image. Which had made him quiet and withdrawn. Yet the two of them had clicked almost immediately.

As Jack walked toward her, she struggled not to turn her total focus on him. He wouldn’t like that. Not when they were just about to meet. He’d think she was staring at him because of his limp—and the scars on his face.

She struggled to assume a casual aspect, struggled not to look like a woman taking the first view of the man she loved, after they’d been separated for months. After she’d believed he was dead.

Still, her chest tightened as she waited for her first contact with Jack in an eternity.

No, her first meeting with him at all, she reminded herself. At least as far as he was concerned.

For a wild moment she thought about taking him aside and trying to explain everything to him. But he’d only think she was crazy. Anybody would think she was crazy if she started talking about events that hadn’t happened yet. Which was one of the problems of this whole situation.

Right now, all she could do was experience the joy of seeing him alive and well.

Still, there was a dreamlike quality to watching him come toward her. Eagerly, she drank in his appearance, taking in everything in one sweep. His height of six feet. His dark eyes and hair. His strong jaw. The scars on one cheek that showed through the dark stubble. His lips that looked so hard but could be so incredibly soft against hers.

He was dressed in a dark knit shirt, jeans and running shoes because his doctor had advised him to stick with footwear that gave him good traction. He took that advice, partly because it suited his casual manner and partly because he wanted to give himself every physical advantage.

As he came toward her, she stifled the impulse to pat her hair into place.

“Ted Morgan. Jack Morgan. Sara Carter,” Pam said.

“Nice to meet you,” they answered.

“Are you working with Pam?” Ted asked.

“I have my own business, staging properties for sale.”

“Staging?”

“Getting them ready to show,” she answered without explaining exactly what that meant.

She remembered the first time this scene had taken place. She’d wanted to get home and go to sleep, but she’d stayed because Pam had asked. As the tour had proceeded, she’d been glad because she wanted to get to know Ted’s brother better.

Pam had mentioned the Morgan fortune, but Sara really hadn’t known much about the family. Now she did. Unfortunately, that made her anxious about the impression she was giving. Jack’s mom and dad were very particular about who their sons hung out with. Could she present herself differently? Probably not.

Don’t get started down that road, she warned herself. Not now. He’s not going to be interested in you if you come across as a phony.

Which might be a moot point, she realized. What if he walked away from her without connecting the way they had before?

Lord, that was something else to worry about. One of too many things that were competing to make goose bumps pepper her arms.

“Why don’t we look at the house?” Pam said. “Isn’t it marvelous? Notice the spacious foyer. It makes a good first impression for your guests.” She opened a door to the left. “And the closet right here has ample room for coats.”

Ted nodded.

Sara and Jack trailed into the kitchen as Pam continued to point out the features of the house.

“Don’t you just love the top-of-the-line stainless-steel appliances? The refrigerator’s huge and the gas stove has six burners,” Pam was saying. “The Mexican tile on the floor makes a statement.”

Sara looked at Jack, and they exchanged what might have been conspiratorial glances.

She remembered that he hated tile in a kitchen because it was slippery, and he needed all the traction he could get.

Pam ushered Ted into the living room. “There’s lots of space for entertaining,” she said. “Notice the easy flow into the family room. And the large windows let in plenty of natural light.”

Ted took a quick look at the rooms before proceeding to another that could be a first-floor office. Turning, he said, “I’d like to see the upstairs.”

“Of course.”

She led the way up, but Sara and Jack stayed on the first floor, watching the other two disappear around a corner.

“Are you responsible for all the homey touches?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“They’re charming.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you own a furniture store or something?”

“No. Just a warehouse where I keep furnishings and knickknacks. If the house is already furnished, I advise the home owner about what to keep and what to put in storage. And which things to replace. It takes away from the salability of a house if the sofa arms have been scratched by a cat.” She struggled to act casual when she ached to reach out and pull Jack into her arms.

She longed to feel his body against hers. Feel his strength and the wonderful way he had of wrapping her close like she was the most precious thing in the world. At the same time, she ached to keep him safe, if that was in her power.

The emotions swirling inside her made it difficult to focus on his words.

But she realized he was saying, “You’ve obviously got an eye for design.”

“Making houses look their best is as much fun for me as it is a job.”

He was giving her a critical inspection, and she stood with her hands at her sides.

“Are you all right?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You have a strange look on your face.”

She laughed, struggling to make light of a moment that was so important to her that she could barely breathe. “I guess it’s from working eight hours straight getting this place ready.”

“All by yourself? Wasn’t a real-estate agent killed recently in an empty house?”

“Yes. I wasn’t alone. Several big, strapping college students help me move furniture. Two of them were here with me today.”

“Good protection.”

“And since I’m on a budget, using them cuts down on costs. the recession set me back for a while. I had to take some temp work to afford the rent.”

“That must have been frustrating.”

“Yes. But the real-estate market is picking up again. When I get more clients, maybe I can afford to hire some permanent help.”

“But right now you’re running yourself ragged,” he said.

“Do I look that wrung out?”

His expression turned rueful. “Sorry. That came out wrong. It’s not what I meant.”

JACK DRAGGED IN A BREATH and let it out, thinking he was out of practice when it came to women. He’d told himself he didn’t care what they thought about it. At the moment, he cared—a lot.

“I’m making a mess of this.”

“No.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Actually, I’m trying to get you to do me a favor.”

“Like what?”

“My brother dragged me here because he wanted me to see this expensive house that’s too big for one family, but he’s probably going to buy it anyway. You can see he doesn’t need my approval, but I came in his car, so I can’t leave on my own.”

“Inconvenient.”

Going for broke, he said, “If you get me out of here, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“That’s a very tempting offer.”

“Good.”

He strode to the steps, and called up. “Sara and I are leaving. See you later.”

“What?” Ted called down.

“We’ll talk later,” Jack answered, then turned back to Sara. “Come on, before Ted puts up an argument.”

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Yes,” he answered, knowing it wasn’t true. Ted was going to be pissed off. He liked things to work out the way he planned, but Jack was going to accommodate him only so far. He’d come along in an attempt to be brotherly. Now there was something else he’d much rather do.

“I’ve got to get my purse.”

He watched Sara head for the kitchen, noting the feminine sway of her hips. She was a very pretty blonde with blue eyes and a trim figure. His type. Well, that had been his type, when he’d felt better about himself.

Sara hadn’t stared at the scars on his face. What would she think about his mangled leg? He stopped himself from going down that road. At least he had two legs and the important parts between them. A lot of guys had come back in much worse shape.

Besides, he was getting way ahead of himself with Sara. He’d just met her. Yet he couldn’t banish the tempting picture of the two of them in bed together.

He strove for a neutral expression as she came back with a leather bag slung over one shoulder.

They walked outside together, and he looked at the two cars that had been parked at the property when he and Ted had driven up. A Mercedes and a Honda.

“I’m guessing you picked good gas mileage over luxury.”

“And also utility. I sent the truck back to my warehouse with the boys.” She gave him a direct look. “Actually, I’m living there for the time being. It’s a good way to save money.”

“Is that legal? Living in a storage facility?”

She shrugged. “The management didn’t ask. And there wasn’t anything about it in the lease. It came with a bathroom. And a little kitchen area, actually, so I can function there very well.”

“Okay.” He held out his hand. “Why don’t you let me drive?”

HAD SHE DRIVEN LAST TIME this scene had played itself out? Or had he? She honestly couldn’t remember. Back then, she was focused on getting to know Jack. Now everything had more than one meaning. And one of her jobs was to keep from saying anything that would put him off.

“Sure,” Sara answered, fishing her keys out of her purse and handing them over. When he unlocked the door, she climbed into the passenger seat, and he slid behind the wheel, then adjusted the seat to give himself enough legroom. She was glad the car was neat. Sometimes the back was full of items she hadn’t needed for a staging.

“Where do you want to eat?” he asked.

She thought for a moment. He’d asked her last time, and she’d suggested a place called the Pasta Station in Lisbon. Could she start changing their history by changing the venue? “There’s a little restaurant and bakery in Ellicott City. Genevieve’s,” she said, naming a place that was miles from the one where they’d eaten last time.

Ellicott City was an old mill town with a commercial area that hadn’t changed much in two hundred years because there was nowhere to expand. The antique buildings on either side of Main Street hugged the sides of a rocky ravine. Capitalizing on that disadvantage, the town had long ago transformed itself into a quaint shopping and restaurant area.

“I’ve passed it and wanted to go in.”

“The food is good, and the prices aren’t high.”

She leaned back, ordering herself to relax as she slid her eyes toward Jack, watching him put the car into gear and head down the driveway.

It was amazing to be sitting so close to him again. Amazing that they had this time together. In fact, she felt like every second was a gift from God.

The interior of the car was filled with his scent, so dear and familiar to her. She watched his strong hands as they clasped the wheel, somehow keeping herself from covering the closer one with her palm. She ached to touch him. Kiss him. Do all the things that she’d thought she’d never do again. Now he was tantalizingly within reach.

Of course, he wasn’t aware of any of her longings. For him, this was their first meeting.

He turned right, out of the development where the lots were supersized and the custom-built houses vied with each other for presence.

They were at the far edge of the county, and she hadn’t thought about the route to Ellicott City until Jack turned onto a major cross-county road.

Route 108.

Familiar scenery sped past. She tried to place it, then drew in a quick breath.

“Sorry, I guess I’m going too fast,” Jack said, completely misinterpreting her reaction.

“You’re fine,” she managed to say, but her mind was racing and her chest felt like it was being constricted by heavy bands.

She knew exactly where she was. This was the stretch of highway where she’d slid down the long hill in the snow. Where she’d hit the pickup truck and…what?

She couldn’t say for sure what had really happened. Would it happen again? Now?

Was this what fate had in store for her? A cruel joke? A few minutes with the man she loved—then blackness.

“No,” she whispered.

Reacting to the alarm in her voice, Jack looked toward her, just as a car rounded the curve ahead, passing another vehicle illegally and coming straight at them.

Chapter Three

Sara grabbed the handhold above the door.

“Watch out.”

Jack swore under his breath, his attention snapping back to the road as he yanked the wheel, moving them to the right so that he hugged the edge of their lane. When the car remained on their side of the road, he honked the horn and muttered, “What is that fool doing?”

Slowing their speed, he bumped onto the shoulder. Sara wanted to close her eyes. Instead she couldn’t take her gaze from the other car. Leaping back to its own side of the road, it passed them with inches to spare, but Jack was already too close to the edge of the shoulder.

The right-hand wheels were skimming the margin of the gravel now, and he was having trouble steering.

Looking to the right, Sara saw a steep hill with a creek at the bottom.

Her heart was in her throat as she braced for the long slide down. Like last time, but different. Beside her, Jack was still fighting to avoid disaster, slowing their speed and struggling to stay off the hill. Somehow he managed to keep the vehicle mostly on the shoulder. When he had enough traction, he swung back onto the center of the shoulder and stopped the car.

She gave him a grateful look. “Thank goodness. You’re a heck of a driver.”

“You mean good or bad?”

She felt a nervous laugh bubbling inside her. “Good, of course.”

Swiveling around, she looked behind her. If I’d been driving, we’d be down there in the creek.

He was the only thing that had saved them this time. Last time she’d been here, she’d been alone.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, as he pulled back onto the road.

“How was that your fault?”

“I distracted you,” she said, thinking that one of the questions circling in her mind had just been answered. Everything wasn’t happening exactly as it had the last time. The first time around, there had been no near accident on the way to dinner.

Was that a bad sign? Or was it actually good? What if nobody was after Jack now?

She wanted that to be true, so much, but she couldn’t count on it. Not when whoever was trying to kill him before had been so totally relentless.

Tempting as it was to relax her guard and just enjoy being with Jack, that wasn’t a smart idea.

She glanced at him and saw his brow wrinkle. “That’s right. You gasped. Just before that guy rounded the corner. But you couldn’t see him coming, could you?”

“No.” She scrambled for an explanation and came up with something plausible. “A woman I knew had an accident here. She was killed.” Saying it out loud sent a shiver through her. But it was the truth. Well, not the friend part. Sara Carter had been killed here. Or would be killed, unless she could change her fate—and Jack’s.

“That’s rough. When did it happen?”

“Last winter.” She swallowed. “I knew her pretty well.”

“And seeing the spot where she died brought it back.”

“Apparently. But I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“I understand.”

“Because guys you knew in Afghanistan were killed?”

He stiffened. “How do you know I was in Afghanistan?”

“You’re a war hero.”

“I’m no hero,” he said in a hard voice.

She wanted to tell him that she knew otherwise. Before getting wounded, he’d saved the lives of two men on patrol by pulling them back to safety, while under enemy fire. His act of bravery had earned him a Bronze Star. But telling him things about himself wasn’t a good idea. She’d have to wait until they came up when he got to know her better.

They were both silent for several minutes. The accident hadn’t happened before. Neither had this conversation. Or driving past the very hill where she’d been killed. Or would be killed. It was still hard to sort out the references to past and future.

She shook her head.

“What?” Jack asked.

It seemed so natural then to reach out and cover his large hand with her smaller one, to press her palm against his knuckles.

“I get nervous every time I pass this place,” she murmured. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t thinking about the route we were going to take.”

“I get nervous in thunderstorms,” he answered. “The thunder is like being in battle.”

“Sorry.”

“I have to deal with it.”

Reluctantly she took her hand away.

Switching to a different subject, he asked, “How did you get into the business of…staging houses?”

“My mom had an antiques shop in Ellicott City.”

“Which shop?”

“Well, antiques and…weird stuff. She called it Past Is Prologue.”

“I remember it. I used to wonder what was in there. But it’s closed now?”

“Yes. She died a couple of years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and she realized they’d said that twice now.

“I miss her.”

“You have brothers and sisters?”

“No. My dad…” She should tell him what had happened to her father, but she simply couldn’t make herself do it. Not yet. “He left us on our own.”

“Rough.”

“We managed, but we didn’t have a lot of extra cash. At least it taught me to be frugal. I was making a lot of my own clothes by the time I was in middle school.”

He was probably thinking about how different her life had been from his, even though they’d grown up in the same Maryland county. It was one of the wealthiest in the country. She just hadn’t gotten much advantage from that.

“How come you didn’t want to run the store?” he asked.

“I saw what kind of hours she kept, and I didn’t want to be tied to a shop all the time. But I loved arranging the merchandise. And picking up items at estate sales and auctions. Then when I was home from college on summer vacation, a real-estate agent I knew asked if I could stage a house for her with some of the merchandise from Mom’s shop. I agreed. She liked what I’d done and recommended me to her friends. I haven’t done any advertising. My business comes from word of mouth in the real-estate community.”

“Which means you’re good at what you do.”

“I hope so.”

He took the scenic way into town, the long hill that wound down through restored houses, even a couple of log cabins, to the commercial area where Main Street was confined by the sides of the river gorge.

“Did your mom’s shop get caught in any floods?” Jack asked.

“A couple of times. Everybody did in the old days. Until we had some serious flood control on the river.” She pointed down the hill. “Genevieve’s is near the train station.”

He continued down the narrow street toward the stone building that had been the first terminus of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad and was now a museum.

Parking in the old mill town was always at a premium, but Jack found a space not far from the restaurant.

It was getting dark. Darker down here in the river valley, and Sara told herself not to be nervous as she got out of the car. Still, she was remembering that something bad had happened when they’d come out of the restaurant the first time around.

But this wasn’t even the same town.

Still, she was on the alert as they strolled along the sidewalk. And she breathed out a little sigh as they stepped into Genevieve’s.

It was owned by a husband and wife team, Patrick and Laura Walsh, both in their early forties. Laura was the chef, and Pat manned the front. They had owned a restaurant in New York City and had come to central Maryland to find a less hectic way of life.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Pat said when he spotted Sara. He was a slightly overweight man who obviously enjoyed his wife’s cooking.

“I’ve been busy. But I’m happy to be here now. What’s good tonight?”

“Laura has a yen for spring cuisine. She’s got a killer asparagus soup. A spinach salad to die for. Lamb kebabs. But you should sit down and look at the menu.”

He led them to a quiet table in the back where Jack winced as he sat down.

“What’s wrong?”

He looked like he wished she hadn’t asked, but he said, “I was wounded in Afghanistan. The leg gives me some trouble. And don’t say you’re sorry.”

She laughed. “Yeah, let’s not make that the word of the day.”

He grinned at her. “Wine would help. One glass, and I’ll still be okay to drive.”

They had already exchanged a good deal of information in the car. At dinner they each ordered different dishes and had a taste of the other’s selection. Sara got the asparagus soup and lasagna, and Jack ordered the spinach salad and the shish kebab, all of which were excellent.

They kept the conversation light, discussing music they liked. She already knew his tastes, but it was fun talking to him about the Eagles, Bob Seger, Bruce Springsteen, Fleet-wood Mac.

Still, she felt tension gathering inside her as the meal drew to a close. She was waiting for two things–one of them good and one of them bad.

They were finishing a shared piece of key lime pie when Jack looked at his watch. “It’s after ten. You probably need to get some sleep.”

“I guess dinner woke me up. And the conversation. I was enjoying myself.”

“Me, too. But I’d better get you home. Especially since you have to drop me off first.”

“Right. I wasn’t thinking about that,” she lied. Of course she was thinking about it.

“Or I could call Ted.”

“Don’t bother him. Well, unless you live in the next county.”

“No. My address is actually Ellicott City. But not the old part.”

After he’d paid the bill, she felt a stab of disappointment. Last time…

Instead of standing up, he leaned toward her.

“I was thinking about your job.”

Her pulse started to pound.

“It’s not so different from an interior decorator,” he continued.

“Not exactly,” she felt duty bound to say.

“But close enough.” He cleared his throat. “Morgan Enterprises is planning to move to a new building. I was wondering if you might be interested in doing some of the decorating for us.”

She dragged in a breath, then let it out. “I’m overwhelmed. That’s a dream job for me. But are you sure the company would go along with it?”

“It’s my decision.” He laughed. “They’re trying to get me more involved. I’ll tell them what I saw that’s unique in your work, and why I think you’re the right person to hire.”

“Okay. Then yes.”

“You haven’t even asked what we’re paying.”

Because she already knew. She laughed. “Oh, right. What?”

He named a figure that would have made her blink if she hadn’t heard it before.

“That’s fantastic.”

“If you don’t have to work tomorrow, I can show you what we need done.”

“As far as I know, I’m free tomorrow,” she answered, feeling light-headed. She’d been afraid it wasn’t going to happen, but he’d asked her to work with him—which meant that they would be seeing a lot of each other.

“I’m glad that’s settled.” He stood, and she did, too.

He glanced around. “It looks like we’re closing up the restaurant.”

As they walked through the almost-empty establishment, she was thinking that the other test was coming up.

Patrick said goodbye and held the door open for them. Then they were on the street.

Sara kept her eyes open and her ears peeled for trouble. As they approached the car, she breathed out a little sigh.

It wasn’t the same.

She stole a glance at Jack as he reached to open the car door. She knew his expressions, and the look on his face told her that he was thinking about kissing her.

Which was fine with her. She’d been hoping for something like that all evening.

Then everything changed in an instant as a man stepped out from behind a parked car. A man holding a gun.

Chapter Four

Jack had spent the most enjoyable evening in recent memory, and he was thinking that it was only going to get better.

Then, in one of those terrifying moments that could change everything, a man with a gun stepped toward him. A guy about average height, with thinning dark hair.

Caught off guard, Jack grappled with the seismic shift, but Sara was already moving. From beside him, she leaped forward, swinging her purse like a bolo, using the strap that had held it on her shoulder. The heavy leather bag hit the man square in his pockmarked face, wringing a shocked exclamation from his lips.

As the purse dropped, he whirled toward Sara, his eyes fierce, his mouth bloody, and the gun pivoting in her direction. But Jack was already springing forward, plowing into the guy and knocking him backward against the fender of the car.

The man straightened and tried to retaliate with a head butt. But Jack dodged aside, making the guy lose his footing. Taking advantage of that, Jack stomped on the man’s gun hand. He screamed as the automatic went flying across the sidewalk.

A gun had made the guy brave. With the deadly weapon suddenly yards away on the sidewalk, his face became suffused with panic. In a desperate move, he reared at Jack, throwing him backward so that he landed against the exterior wall of the restaurant. With the breath knocked out of him, he struggled to stay on his feet, but his bad leg gave out from under him, and he toppled onto his butt, hitting the sidewalk with a teeth-rattling impact.

As the man dived for the gun again, Sara thrust out a foot and kicked the automatic off the curb and under a car.

“Bitch.” The man’s face was a study in anger, his hands curled into claws. Jack’s fear leaped into his throat, but as he struggled up, the man apparently decided to cut his losses. After one more angry look, he whirled away and ran, disappearing around a corner.

His own anger boiling over, Jack started after him, but Sara darted forward, grabbing his arm and holding him back.

“Don’t.”

He tried to wrench away, but she held fast.

“Let him go.”

Rage had fueled his aggressive instincts, but he knew that he had little chance of catching the guy. Not when his running speed had been cut substantially by his injury. Plus the attacker probably had mapped out an emergency escape route before the attack.

Still, he was torn between imperatives.

The door of the restaurant burst open, and Patrick stepped out, his gaze landing on them. “I heard a scuffle. What happened?”

“A guy tried to rob us,” Jack answered.

“I don’t know,” Sara mused.

Jack turned toward her, seeing the indecision on her face. “You don’t think it was a robbery? I mean, what else could it have been?”

She looked torn. “He didn’t ask for our money, did he?”

Jack laughed. “I guess he didn’t get a chance to. You hit him in the face with your purse.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s right,” she conceded.

“Fast thinking.”

“I took a self-defense course.”

“Don’t they advise you that it’s better to give up your wallet than get shot?”

“Yes. But I just…you know…” She raised one shoulder in a helpless gesture.

“I’m going to call the police,” the restaurant owner said, pulling out his cell phone and dialing 911.

Sara looked shaken.

Jack reached for her, pulling her into his arms, feeling her tremble.

She whispered his name in a way that made it sound like they’d had a whole lot more shared experiences than just what had happened today.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I am now. I was so scared.”

“But you didn’t lose your cool.”

She nodded against his shoulder, clinging to him, wrapping her arms around his back and pressing close.

Holding her in his embrace was wonderful. And he had the odd feeling that it wasn’t for the first time. There was a familiarity about her that sent a wave of contentment—and longing—through him. He wanted her, even when he knew that letting her get close to him could lead to disappointment.

He stopped worrying about that as he hugged her to him. He’d wanted to feel her body against his all evening. He hadn’t thought he’d get an excuse so quickly, although this wasn’t the kind of reason he’d have elected, if he’d had a choice.

He slid his hands up and down her back, wishing he could do more. He wanted to kiss her. More than kiss. He wanted her in a bed. Which astonished him. She’d see the scars on his body. The scars that reminded him of the worst day of his life. The scars that had shocked another woman.

But he couldn’t do the things he craved now. Not out here on the street. Not with the restaurant owner looking at them and the cops on the way.

She must have understood that, too, because she eased away from him, her gaze going to his.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said.

“Same here.”

“The gun was pointed at you.”

“You put yourself in danger.”

“I was terrified for you. I just acted instinctively.”

Patrick cleared his throat. “Both of you just had a pretty nasty experience. Come inside and sit down.”

“Yes. Thanks,” Sara answered.

She followed the restaurant owner into the building, where chairs were now upside down on the tabletops. Quickly Patrick reached for the closest group and pulled four of them down.

His wife came out of the kitchen, looking concerned when she saw two of their diners had returned, both appearing somewhat the worse for wear.

“What happened?”

“Attempted robbery,” her husband said.

“You poor things,” she sympathized. “I’m Laura Walsh,” she said to Jack.

“Jack Morgan.” He looked from her to her husband. “Has there been a lot of crime down here?”

“Not a lot. But it happens from time to time. I’m so sorry you got into trouble right outside the restaurant.”

“Not your fault,” Jack answered.

“Can I get you some brandy?” Patrick asked.

“Yes. Thanks,” Jack answered.

Patrick stepped behind the bar and poured two glasses of Azteca de Oro and brought them over.

Jack took a sip. “Good stuff.”

“My best.”

Sara also took a small swallow. “Yes, this is good.”

“How are you doing?” Jack asked.

“Better. Thanks.”

The casual conversation stopped when the door opened and a uniformed officer stepped inside. He was young and fit, and had that confidence a uniform gave you until something bad happened. Jack knew all about that from his time in Afghanistan. He’d gone over there thinking the U.S. Army could whip the asses of the Taliban. He’d found out they didn’t give in easily. And they had no problems with fighting dirty.

“You called in an attempted robbery?” asked the officer, whose name tag said Robards.

“Yes,” the restaurant owner answered.

“We were the ones he assaulted,” Jack said, gesturing toward Sara and himself. “We’d just finished dinner and stepped outside.”

Robards looked at Sara. “You’re the woman who stages the houses, right?”

“How do you know?”

“My wife has taken me to a couple of showings. I saw you at one of them.”

Sara nodded. “I was working on a job all day. Jack and I came down here for some dinner—and to unwind.”

Jack laughed. “It didn’t turn out quite the way we expected.”

“It did until a few minutes ago,” she answered, her gaze searching his.

“Yes.”

Again, he forgot that they weren’t alone, until the police officer said, “Let me get some basic information.”

He took their names, phone numbers, addresses and email addresses. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Jack gave an account of the incident.

When he finished, Robards looked at Sara. “You were taking a chance with that purse stunt. He could have shot you.”

“I guess that’s right.” She shifted in her seat. “I just reacted when I saw the gun pointed at Jack.” Even though she told the cop the same thing she’d told Jack earlier, there was something about her expression that gave him an odd feeling, as though she were holding information back.

“What did the man look like?” the cop asked.

Jack raised one shoulder. “There wasn’t anything remarkable about him. He was medium height. His hair was thinning. But mostly I saw the gun.”

“What kind of gun?”

“An automatic.” Jack looked at Sara. “You kicked it under the car. Maybe it’s still there.”

“Show me where,” Robards said.

They all got up and went outside. Sara pointed to the spot where the weapon had disappeared. It was lying against the curb, and the officer was able to retrieve it and put it into an evidence bag.

“Good,” he said. “Anything else you can add to his description?”

She nodded. “Like Jack said, he was medium height. Thinning hair. A high forehead. A wide mouth. One of his front teeth was a little crooked.”

“You noticed that?” Jack asked.

“I was thinking he ought to get it fixed.”

“Anything else?” Robards asked.

“Bad skin. Well, you know, teenage acne scars.”

“Yeah,” Jack chimed in. “I forgot to mention that.”

Sara spoke again. “He was wearing dark slacks. A dark, long-sleeved knit shirt. His shoes were dark. I guess he was hoping to make himself inconspicuous.”

“Did you see his eye color?” the cop asked.

“They were light,” Sara said. “I don’t know exactly what color.” She thought for a moment. “Except for the scars, his skin was very pale. I don’t think he goes out much. And, uh, he didn’t sound like he was from around here. More like a New York accent.”

“He didn’t say much,” Jack answered.

“I know. Just an impression I had.”

“Had either of you seen him before?” Robards asked.

“No,” Jack answered.

Sara said the same thing, but she was a beat behind him.

“Are you willing to come in and look at some mug shots?” Robards asked.

“Yes,” they both said at the same time.

“Can you come in tomorrow morning?”

They both agreed.

By the end of the interview, Sara was looking wiped out.

“I’ll drive,” Jack said when they returned to her car.

She flopped into the passenger seat, leaned back and closed her eyes, but he saw her hands were clasped in her lap.

He started the car, pulled out of the parking space and headed toward home.

“Your quick thinking made a difference,” he said.

“Don’t give me too much credit,” she murmured. “You beat him up, and he ran away.”

“I think he’d have shot me if you hadn’t reacted.”

She nodded.

“Then you came up with a lot of details I didn’t notice.”

Her eyes snapped open. “I’ve trained myself to think about details. That’s part of my job.”

“Yeah. When the cop asked if you’d seen the guy before, you hesitated.”

She turned her head toward him. “I was trying to think if I had seen him.”

“And I assumed I hadn’t.”

“I guess it’s just the way we think about things.”

“Right,” he answered, still mulling that over. He hadn’t thought about his powers of observation until tonight.

Sara closed her eyes again, and he wondered if she wanted to sleep—or to avoid talking about their answers to the cop.

It was only a short ride to his house, which was a fifty-year-old rancher on a couple of acres off Route 144. The property had appealed to him because he hated the way the county was being built up with houses crammed onto tiny lots.

He shared a long driveway with several other home owners who also wanted some privacy. When he pulled up in front of the house, Sara opened her eyes and looked around. A security light had gone on, illuminating the low, rectangular front of the house, and he saw her looking at it.

“Not very impressive,” he said.

“I’m guessing you didn’t buy it to impress anyone.”

He laughed. “That’s for sure. I just wanted a place to live where I could be by myself.”

She nodded, and he wondered if he had given too much away with that answer. No use explaining that his parents had invited him to move back in to their mansion, and he hadn’t wanted the obligation of making conversation. Or having anyone comment on his physical-therapy schedule.

Jack knew that Mom and Dad were being protective of him. They hadn’t liked him joining the army. They’d been sick with worry when he’d gone off to Afghanistan. And they were still worried about his physical and mental shape.

He understood all that. Maybe he was making a dramatic improvement tonight. At least mentally.

He’d intended to tell Sara that he knew she was tired. Instead he heard himself say, “Do you want to come in?”

“Yes,” she murmured. “But I think I shouldn’t.”

“Because you decided this isn’t going anywhere?” he asked, wanting to get the disappointment over with in one fell swoop.

“Because I know it is. And if I come inside, there’s no telling what will happen. Then you’ll think I’m the kind of woman who…” She stopped and laughed. “I’d better not make suggestions, but I’m thinking we’re safe out here.”

As she spoke she reached for him across the narrow console, pulling him into her arms. “Oh, Jack,” she sighed, as she clung tightly to him.

“We both had a frightening experience,” he answered.

“It’s not just that, and you know it.” She pulled back so that her eyes could meet his.

“Yes.” He held her gaze for a long moment, then moved in closer again, lowering his head to cover her lips with his.

He was out of practice kissing. Out of practice with any kind of intimacy. But as soon as their mouths touched, he knew exactly what he was doing.

She made a small sound as his lips moved over hers, the friction setting up a vibration through his body.

He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he knew that the two of them could have died on the street outside the restaurant. Or he could have, if she hadn’t been with him.

Would he just have handed over his wallet if he’d been alone?

Probably not.

Since he’d come home, his mood had been reckless. He hadn’t cared much about what happened to him. That had changed as they’d sat over dinner. Changed even more when the man had come at them with the gun.

“Something could have happened to you back there,” he whispered against her mouth.

“Or to you,” she answered, turning her head so that her lips rubbed against his, then settling down with a more steady pressure.

He didn’t have to ask her to open for him. She simply did it, giving him access to her sweetness.

He liked the faint taste of brandy in her mouth. He liked the way she kissed. Loved the way she was doing exactly what he wanted. Like she was reading his mind. She couldn’t be, but they’d clicked in a way that was almost magical.

He stopped trying to analyze the attraction or his reactions or anything else. He simply wanted to enjoy this moment with her—to enjoy this woman.

He loved the soft skin of her arms when he stroked them, the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest. Her scent, which wasn’t anything he could define but was unique to her.

She kissed him as though they were two lovers at the end of the world who had thought they were doomed to live out their days alone. Then they’d found each other, and everything had changed.

“Jack,” she murmured against his mouth, her tongue finding the inside of his lips, the line of his teeth, stroking him with a maddening sensuality.

They had met only today. He had to keep reminding himself of that when he wanted to pick her up in his arms and carry her into the house. Straight to his bed.

And she would have come with him. She’d as much as said she would. Or she wanted to.

He ached to slip his hand between them and cup her breast, and it took all his restraint to stop himself from doing it.

He warned himself not to go too fast. Not to do anything that would ruin things before they really got started.

Forcing himself to go slowly, he pulled away. His breath was coming hard and fast. So was hers.

She looked into his eyes for a long moment, then lowered her head to his shoulder, gripping his arms.

He could have sat here all night holding her, if she would let him. “You should go before I take this too far.”

“I know.” The broken sound of her voice tore at him.

She didn’t raise her head or let go of him, but stayed where she was.

“Jack,” she said again, his name easing out of her like a long sigh. “I never thought this would ever happen again.”

The words jolted him. “What do you mean ‘again’?”

Chapter Five

Sara pulled away and kept her head down, because looking at him might make her reveal what she knew about their past and their future. “I didn’t mean to say that,” she said. “It just slipped out.”

“I don’t have any right to pry,” he answered in a gruff voice, and she knew he was wondering about what she could possibly have meant.

She dragged in a breath and let it out, fighting panic. What was she going to say now? It had to be something that made sense, but her mind stayed blank until she heard words coming out of her mouth.

“I was in love with someone. It was a very intense relationship. We were going to get married. Then he died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was very difficult for me to deal with.”

“I understand,” he said, and she knew he must be trying to imagine what that must have been like for her.

She went on quickly. “I’ve been kind of closed off since it happened. I guess you can say I threw myself into my work.”

“I understand,” he said again.

“When that gunman came at you, all I could think of was protecting you,” she admitted.

He reached for her again, holding her close, and she was overwhelmed by how much she was feeling—hope, turmoil, confusion, overlayed with panic that the past would repeat itself, after all. The urge to explain it all to him was like steam pressure building up inside her. But she knew she couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t believe her. She had hardly believed it herself when she’d woken up in the car outside the mansion. But it had gone on too long for her to doubt the truth.

If she couldn’t speak, she could allow herself the joy of holding on to him for a little while longer. Her hands crept around his back, and they clung together.

Finally, she knew that if she stayed any longer, she was going to end up in his bed.

“I should leave.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“We’ll see each other soon. You wanted me to look at that new building.” She made a snorting sound. “And we’re forgetting that we agreed to a romantic meeting at police headquarters to look at mug shots.”

“Funny how that slipped my mind.”

“It’s not exactly a fun expedition.”

“Yeah. But I can pick you up, and we can kill two birds with one stone. If that’s okay?”

“That’s fine. I don’t have any urgent jobs. I’ll be at the warehouse.”

“Okay.”

She fished one of her cards out of her purse and gave it to him. Then they both exited the car. He walked toward his front door and stayed there as she climbed behind the wheel, closed the door and backed up, before turning to wave at him.

Then she left, wondering if she had made a mess of everything.

Since the attack by the gunman, her mind had been spinning as she tried to weigh every word before speaking. Which wasn’t a good idea because that was going to make her sound like she was hiding something. Which she was.

She had told him that she’d loved someone, and he had died. That was Jack, of course.

And she couldn’t tell him that.

So what if he asked about her dead lover? Was she going to make up a name for him? Or was she going to say it was just too painful to talk about?

Hopefully the latter, if she could get away with it, because she hated lying. And she’d done it over and over all evening. Starting with her story about the hill on 108. When she’d realized where she was, she’d been terrified. She’d distracted Jack, and a car had almost plowed into them. The past meeting the present. Or the future meeting the present.

Her mind was half in tonight’s reality and half in the former one as she reached Route 144, where she waited for a truck to rumble past.

Her head was pounding from the details of the evening.

The man who had come at Jack was the same guy who had tried to kill him last time. Only in a different restaurant in a different town.

How had he even known where to find Jack? Or had he followed them from the house? Which would mean he’d known where Jack would be.

And then there was the big difference. Last time she hadn’t hit the man with her purse. Last time someone had come out of the parking lot and shouted at the gunman. The distraction had been enough for Jack to leap on the guy, like he did tonight. And after that, the outcome had been the same. The man had pushed Jack down and run away.

But tonight she’d been prepared with the pocketbook because it was later and she’d assumed nobody would be on the street.

She’d go to the police station with Jack, but they weren’t going to see the guy’s picture. At least she didn’t think so because she couldn’t be certain how things were going to work out this time.

Like, for example, Patrick hadn’t been there to make the call last time. A different police officer had shown up. And she certainly hadn’t ended up telling Jack that she’d had a lover who’d died.

That could turn out to blow up in her face. But it had seemed like the only way to keep from looking like a nut.

She took her bottom lip between her teeth, wondering what she should have said and done.

It was useless to keep second-guessing herself. She was just going to have to act as normal as possible. Normal for a woman who’d just met a man who interested her. Not normal for a woman who was meeting the father of her child. A man she thought was dead.

Only there was no baby. Not yet. That was in the future.

Could she keep from getting pregnant? That was a leading question.

Did she want to keep from getting pregnant?

In the darkness of the car, she shook her head. If Jack got killed again, she wanted to have his child.

“Stop it,” she almost shouted, then spoke more calmly. “He’s not going to get killed. That’s why you’re here. To stop it from happening.”

She wished she could be sure of that.

The problem wasn’t the guy with the gun. It was whoever had sent him.

At least she was pretty sure they wouldn’t try the same method again. Because they wanted Jack’s death to look like an accident or a random act of violence where he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Which meant two different robbery attempts wouldn’t seem like chance.

Or would they?

She gripped the wheel, wishing she could stop her mind from going in circles like a hamster running on an exercise wheel.

She turned into the industrial park where she lived. Not one of the country’s upscale areas, but the low rent was a big inducement for the tenants.

There were no cars in the lot, only a few trucks, and she was suddenly aware of how isolated the location was. Hers was one of a long row of warehouses with varying purposes. Most were rented by businesses that didn’t feel the need for showy premises. The man who owned the space next to hers sold garden furniture there, although his primary job was insurance agent. A few doors down was a carpet company. Next to that was a dealer in pinball machines and other old arcade games. Beyond him was a co-op artists’ studio with stained glass and pottery.

The industrial park was busy during the day. But she was the only tenant who lived here, and usually she was the only person around at night.

She pulled around so that her car was facing outward, toward the strip of trees that bordered the other side of the parking lot. She’d always liked the way it gave a woodsy feel to an area that was otherwise devoid of charm. Tonight she peered into the darkness under the trees and shivered. As she imagined someone standing in the shadows, watching her.

The attack in Ellicott City had been aimed at Jack, but that didn’t necessarily mean she was safe.

She’d played a part in saving Jack tonight. Would the man with the gun report her involvement to the person who had hired him? Or would he want to skip over the news that a woman had slammed a pocketbook into his face?

Maybe she’d just directed the killer’s attention toward herself by getting personally involved, and maybe that meant she was in danger. Perhaps it would be a good idea to get a gun—and learn how to use it.

Lord, what if this time around she was the one who got killed and Jack survived?

As that new idea took hold, she shuddered. Quickly she got out of the car and crossed to the steps that led up to the loading dock. At one side was the door she used when she wasn’t emptying or loading the truck.

The security light didn’t go on, and she remembered that she needed to change the bulb. Better not put that off, she told herself, as she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

In the warehouse, another wave of unfamiliarity hit her. She’d been living here when she met Jack, but after he’d died and she’d found out she was pregnant, she’d started looking for another place to live, because she couldn’t raise a child in a warehouse.

Tonight she was back here. And Jack was going to pick her up here tomorrow. She switched on a light, trying to see the place from his point of view. This part of the building was filled with furniture that she used as needed at display houses. The sideboards, desks, armoires and tables tended to be older pieces that she’d found at garage sales and auctions, and refinished or refurbished. The chairs and sofas were mostly modern, since she wanted them to be comfortable. Along one wall were shelves of knickknacks and other small items that she used to create a homey feel at each property.

At the moment, there was something she needed to check.

She’d told Jack that she could go with him tomorrow to see the new Morgan offices because that was what had happened last time.

Was it still true that she had the day free?

She hurried to the back of the building and stepped through the door that separated her living quarters from the furniture storage.

Inside she’d made herself a cozy little efficiency apartment, if one ignored the industrial cinder-block walls and the high ceiling with the ductwork overhead. Her bed was on one wall, with an Indian spread and pillows that made it look like a couch. Several easy chairs came from her warehouse stock. Her computer was on an old library table. And she’d kept several cabinet pieces that she loved, a Victorian dresser and a chest of drawers. The clothing she needed to hang up was in a vintage armoire. At the end of the bed were open shelves where she stored her decorating books and some of the small items that might go out to various model houses.

The kitchen was along the wall opposite the bed. It had a small sink, an under-counter refrigerator, a two-burner stove and a microwave. The small bathroom was next to it. There was no tub, but a previous tenant had put in a shower.

After booting her computer, she quickly checked her calendar and was relieved to find she actually was free for tomorrow.

She was just checking her email when her cell phone rang. There was no landline in the warehouse, which had worked okay because she did a lot of her business through email.

She tensed, until she saw the caller ID. Jack.

How could she have forgotten that he’d called that evening to make sure she was okay?

Pressing the Receive icon, she raised the phone to her ear.

“Hi,” she said, thinking that she probably sounded a little breathy.

“I wanted to make sure you got home okay. And—you didn’t get my number.”

“Right. I was kind of scattered.”

“Understandable.”

He gave her his home and cell numbers, and she wrote them down, although she already knew them by heart.

“You’re okay?” he asked.

“Still a little spooked.”

“Likewise.” He waited a beat before asking, “What time should I pick you up tomorrow?”

“What’s convenient for you?”

“How about ten? We can do the police station bit, then look at the office spaces, then have some lunch.”

“That sounds good.”

There wasn’t much more to add to the conversation. Well, there was a whole lot more she wanted to say, but she knew none of it was appropriate at this stage in their relationship.

“Do you own a gun?” he suddenly asked.

She drew in a quick breath. She’d been thinking about that.

“No.”

“You should probably get one.”

“I’ve thought about it. Actually, my mom had one at the shop. And when I was a teenager, I took shooting lessons. So I know how to handle one.”

“But you don’t have one now?”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.